to look out upon the daylight
world. The rains sap the foundations on the seaward side. A few nettles,
shaken by the breeze, flourish in the lower part of the walls. Far
around the horizon there is no other human habitation. The house is a
void; the abode of silence: but if you place your ear against the wall
and listen, you may distinguish a confused noise now and then, like the
flutter of wings. Over the walled door, upon the stone which forms its
architrave, are sculptured these letters, "ELM-PBILG," with the date
"1780."

The dark shadow of night and the mournful light of the moon find
entrance there.

The sea completely surrounds the house. Its situation is magnificent;
but for that reason its aspect is more sinister. The beauty of the spot
becomes a puzzle. Why does not a human family take up its abode here?
The place is beautiful, the house well-built. Whence this neglect? To
these questions, obvious to the reason, succeed others, suggested by the
reverie which the place inspires. Why is this cultivatable garden
uncultivated? No master for it; and the bricked-up doorway? What has
happened to the place? Why is it shunned by men? What business is done
here? If none, why is there no one here? Is it only when all the rest of
the world are asleep that some one in this spot is awake? Dark squalls,
wild winds, birds of prey, strange creatures, unknown forms, present
themselves to the mind, and connect themselves somehow with this
deserted house. For what class of wayfarers can this be the hostelry?
You imagine to yourself whirlwinds of rain and hail beating in at the
open casements, and wandering through the rooms. Tempests have left
their vague traces upon the interior walls. The chambers, though walled
and covered in, are visited by the hurricanes. Has the house been the
scene of some great crime? You may almost fancy that this spectral
dwelling, given up to solitude and darkness, might be heard calling
aloud for succour. Does it remain silent? Do voices indeed issue from
it? What business has it on hand in this lonely place? The mystery of
the dark hours rests securely here. Its aspect is disquieting at
noonday; what must it be at midnight? The dreamer asks himself--for
dreams have their coherence--what this house may be between the dusk of
evening and the twilight of approaching dawn? Has the vast supernatural
world some relation with this deserted height, which sometimes compels
it to arrest its movements here, a